"Don't you have any Grands?" Seth asked, referring to the brand of biscuits.
Herman laughed. "Not around here. I believe in making my own. And that goes for just about everything."
"Great," Seth muttered sarcastically under his breath.
"What was that?" Herman asked, turning the bacon in the cast-iron skillet.
"Nothing," Seth replied, wiping off the wooden cutting board where he cut the biscuits. Actually, a sense of pride enveloped him, for he couldn't believe that he had just made homemade biscuits.
"So, what's on the agenda for the day? Planting the North field?" Seth joked. But knowing his uncle, he probably wasn't far off.
Herman laughed, in spite of himself. "No, we're planting corn today, and probably some tomatoes." Herman put the last of the bacon on a plate, and then instructed Seth to place it on the table.
Within minutes, the biscuits were ready, so Seth pulled them from the hot oven and dumped them into a waiting bowl and covered them with a dish towel. Then he set them on the table. Herman told him that wrapping biscuits in a dish towel placed in a bowl was a trick to keep them warm longer.
Seth beat the eggs and poured them into a skillet, as the aroma of salty bacon and fresh biscuits filled the air. Seth's stomach responded to the flavorful aroma. He was not used to eating like this, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Seth thought that he might even learn how to cook during his stay. Who knows? But in the mean time, Seth was enjoying spending time with his uncle, in spite of himself.
Within minutes, the two were eating breakfast at the small breakfast nook. "Eat quickly," Herman instructed. "We have to get going. There is much work to be done."
After breakfast was finished, the two went outside to a waiting old Chevy truck, probably dating to the 1960s.
"Where did this come from?" Seth asked. "I didn't know you had a truck. This is cool."
Herman smiled, pleased with his remark. "I keep all of my cars in the garage. I pulled it around while you were still sleeping this morning."
Seth ignored the barb.
Together, they loaded the truck with planting equipment: a hoe, shovel, seeds, a tiller, and other gardening items. And as if that wasn't enough, they also loaded a small tractor onto an attached wagon behind the truck.
Then Uncle Herman threw Seth the keys again without saying a word.
A jubilant smile lit his lips as he took the driver's seat. After Herman instructed him of the finer points of driving a stick shift on the column, they headed toward the back field. The car was jumping at first until Seth grew used to the clutch, but soon he was driving smoothly and expertly. The sun was beginning to rise, sending shoots of purple, orange, and pink across the blue morning sky; a fitting backdrop for the green mountains and lush grass. The sight was inspiring.
"How much land do you have, Uncle Herman?" Seth asked, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Don't you know that it's rude to ask a man how much land he owns?" Herman answered gruffly. "It's like asking him how much money he has."
"Sorry," Seth replied. "I didn't mean to insult you. I was just curious." Seth kept his eyes on the dirt road.
"A little over 500 acres," Herman answered.
"Wow!" Seth exclaimed. "Do you work it all?"
"Hardly!" Herman laughed. "I like to keep most of it as natural as possible. It reminds me of long ago."
"Yes, of medieval days, of knights and castles," Seth responded with a slight laugh. "I noticed the paintings in your house and the bedspread on my bed."
Herman nodded and changed the subject. Suddenly, an open field came into view, looking as if the land had been tilled, ready for planting. Seth pulled the truck over, and then threw the keys back to his uncle. They both hopped out and quickly unloaded the equipment.
All morning they worked, tilling the land, planting seeds into rows, and watering as they went along. It was not easy work, but Seth was enjoying himself. He hoped that he would be able to see the fruits of their labor before he went back home in the fall. Despite the coolness of the air, Seth found himself working up a sweat.
"Sweat from good old-fashioned hard work is good for a man," Herman replied, noticing Seth wiping the sweat from his forehead. "It cleanses a man's soul."
"Mine should be good and cleansed," Seth joked then went back to work.
Herman laughed and continued planting the row of corn he was working on.
The time passed quickly as the two worked diligently together. And before Seth knew it, it was time for lunch. Herman pulled a picnic basket from the back of the truck, hidden under a blanket, and then motioned for Seth to follow. They both sat under a giant white birch tree that appeared to be hundreds of years old, and together they ate sandwiches and leftover biscuits and bacon, along with a jug of sweet tea.
"I made the tea for you, to make it feel a bit more like home," Herman replied with a half smile.
Seth nodded his appreciation with a grin. Sweet tea had long been a tradition of the South. And to Seth, the food tasted exceptionally good. He didn't know if it was the fresh, clean open air, or just having worked up an appetite from the good old-fashioned hard work, but he wasn't going to let any of the food go to waste.
After a few moments, Seth asked, "How did you come to live here, Uncle Herman?"
Herman thought for a moment, and then replied, "I've been here for many years."
Seth nodded, knowing that his uncle hadn't answered the question. "But where did you come from?"
Herman paused for a moment. "From England."
"I thought so," Seth replied, smiling.
"My accent gave me away?" Herman asked with a grin and they both laughed. "You're from here, also," Herman replied, waiting for Seth's reaction.
Shock crossed Seth's face. "No, we came from Florida before we moved to Georgia."
"Well," Herman broached the subject gently, "Your mother lived here for a while before she moved away."
Seth's eyebrows pulled together as confusion swept over his face. Why hadn't his mother told him this before? If they'd lived in such a beautiful country, why did they ever move away?
Aksara